Another Desire
by HeadGirl07
Summary: Taking place at the end of sixth year, Hermione has an odd dream before Dumbledore's funeral.


_She was walking towards a room, what appeared to be an unused classroom. Something seemed familiar as she approached and opened the door. Inside was a grand mirror with a gold frame and clawed feet. _I know this mirror,_ Hermione thought, _it's the one Harry and Ron told me about in our first year… yes, first year… _ The thought of first year seemed so long ago. Has it really been five years? Then, out from behind the Mirror of Erised came an eleven year old Harry and Ron in their school robes. _

"_Hey Hermione," greeted Ron. "Nice night to be out, huh?"_

"_Yes, I suppose so. What are you two doing here?" She felt odd asking; this was a strange place to be in the middle of the night._

"_Just looking at the mirror," answered Harry. "You haven't seen it yet, have you Hermione?" She shook her head._

"_Well, have a turn then! Tell us what you see!" Ron pushed her towards it._

What am I supposed to see?_ She wondered. _There was something special about it. What did Harry say? I can't remember…_ Hermione felt like her brain had been steamed, pounded, and fogged up, useless. She rarely forgets things like this. Why can't she think? _

_Facing the mirror, she at first saw nothing. As she stared into it, she saw a person wearing a black robe with hood on the floor. It felt as though an evil aura was coming off him. "That must be Voldemort!" she said aloud, "He's dead!" Standing closer to her was her reflection, on the right side, and Harry and Ron standing to her left. _

"_What else, Hermione?" asked Ron as he moved to stand beside her. Harry moved next to them as well, all in the same places as their reflections, though of course Harry and Ron couldn't see this._

_Hermione continued to stare. As she looked at her friends in the mirror, she noticed that they were not hurt or permanently damaged; all were in one piece. They must have defeated him somehow. Together. Like always. Hermione smiled._

_But as she gazed, Harry stared back at her, waving. Her reflection was not facing her anymore, standing in profile. Ron had turned toward her, away from Harry. Hermione's reflection was smiling boldly as it put her arms around Ron's neck, stroking his cheek. Hermione flinched when she saw, but the fake Ron did not back away to her surprise._

"_What's wrong? What do you see?" asked the real Ron. _

_She did not answer and continued to watch. They got closer, fake Ron had put his arms around her, hands on her waist. He was grinning, looking at Hermione's reflection. Ron pulled her in and his hand began to inch their way up her back. His other hand had made it into her thick, bushy hair. Hermione stared into his eager blue eyes, both of them, the reflection with matched eagerness and the real one with bewilderment and confusion. They were leaning in. There was no hesitation. They just kissed, not a peck, not slobbering over each other, not even nervous. They shared a deep kiss, a real one. _

_This was beyond Hermione; she could only watch, stationary. Heat rushed to her face. "You okay Hermione?" asked Harry. He could not possibly know what she saw, but then why was he smirking, like she often did with him?_

"_What's wrong?" Ron repeated. She could not stand how close they were. She was blushing furiously. _Oh, go away!_ She thought, _Please, please, not now. Just go away!

_But he wouldn't. Ron looked concerned, directing those oh so blue eyes at her. His caring, loving face, those freckles, that long nose, his messy red hair…_

Hermione was breathing heavily, sweat gathering on her forehead. She looked around. She was in the girl's dormitory, in Gryffindor tower. She was not in a classroom. There was no Harry or Ron in sight. There was no mirror. _It was a dream. _The thought made her gloriously happy but also left her with longing._ Only a dream… Did it have to be? _She didn't want to think about it anymore. It was Dumbledore's funeral. Things needed to be done, none of which included her personal life. She needed to do something, anything, to get her mind off it. She slid off her bed and paced, desperate, not wanting to think at all. It seemed too real. She wished it was…


End file.
